I watch it carefully, looking through,
The multi-coloured crystals glow
How loose the red ribbon stands
on this memory bowl,
I have to buy a new one.
a new ribbon, a new bowl,
a new habit, a new look.
Or take the old in control,
when honey, by all means
forgets the breath.
when the cold fresh air
takes out all thoughts of death.
How much I have to pay
for a pair of good eyes.
One little piece of food is left,
deep from the water surface
Lonely it looks, not eaten yet,
My orange goldfish
is unique in habits,
Passion of reason is
expensive for the fish.
Far behind,
I’ve got more of this kind
three reds and one black,
not in bowl, nothing tight
far from the earthly attack.
where there is no end
for ribbons in red.
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And the box
of glass less in need
of my care, it stands
all alone in between canvases
My pure sketches of the wild,
do try to survive when I make
some others far behind.
They remain all fine,
In here or in there
wherever I try to design
Life, then colours do reside
in behind. And there are
my reasons with passions,
And the fish with ribbons.
I never got the chance
to cry for a nice
pair of eyes, I do need just the time
to design one of kind. My black
goldfish fell dead yesterday
in between red ribbons,
all alone.
By: Maryam Farahani
24 February 2006
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